I couldn’t remember whether the chambers of the heart
were atria or ventricles. I looked it up. They’re both.
The atrium brings the blood in, gestures to the coat
rack, pours a glass of red wine. Then out, out through
the swollen sodden gills, lub dub, all best to the wife
and kids. Missing you, there’s some muscle I can’t un-
tense. It’s not even a vagina muscle. It’s my heart.
I was thinking the heart’s chambers are made of cells
which are made of chambers, but then I remembered
muscle cells are really more like those rolls of cookie dough
you slice and throw in the oven, all discrete strands, maybe
string cheese would have been a better metaphor but it’s
too late now, I’ve already made it about cookies.
If you don’t like cookies then you can go fuck yourself.
It turns out heart cells aren’t like normal muscle cells.
They’ve only got one nucleus, and they spend all their lives
making sure they keep living. Under duress, their walls
thicken. I’m pretty sure someone grew them in a petri dish
and all the cells began to beat in synchrony, the tiniest
dubstep concert ever. Cardiomyocytes can grow but once
they die you’re totally screwed. I didn’t even want to drop
the name cardiomyocyte. There’s a joke about monogamy in all this
somewhere. I will find it. I’ll tell it to you and you’ll
laugh and I’ll keep tensing up my heart because if I don’t
I’ll die and this love poem will have been for nothing.